The Wheel Turns
I took some time for grief this weekend. As autumn begins to unfold, skies dressed in grey and leaves tinged with a brush of russet, I sat in the stillness between what was and was is becoming. Summer has not lingered, and the cold damp settled into my soul, reminding me that the wheel turns relentlessly, marking seasons within and without. I love the autumn, the crisp air and chilly evenings, the misty morning fog lingering over the pond as the day emerges. Yet I feel an echo of sadness, as the bright days of summer have faded into an early darkness, and the time of hibernation beckons.
A year ago I was in Scotland, the first real travel I had done since the ’90’s. Being outside of my comfort zone, out of my daily routine, awakened a deep longing in me for more. Some undefinable sense that for all of the richness and blessings in my life, there is something more that eludes me. More adventure, more daring, more claiming of my voice, my gifts, my sovereignty. I’ve spent the past year traveling, making new friends and immersing myself in a sea of connection. I love my travel tribe, scattered around the globe, calling me forward daily to not become lulled by the lush complacency of my cozy nest overlooking the pond. It is too easy for me to be in isolation.
I actually like my own company, which is always a plus, and yet it is a fine line between a contemplative life and just plain hiding out. If I am being completely honest, I have used my mystical nature as an excuse to avoid outreach. I realize it is not the joining in the fun that holds me back, it is the risk of making an invitation that may be rejected. Most of my local friends have very different lifestyles than mine - kids in school, young grandchildren, or empty nesters enjoying their newly found couple status again. Changing schedules and priorities made connecting more of a challenge. At some point over the past few years I realized that much of what had sustained me had shifted into a new dynamic, one that found me less and less out in the world, and more often than not left to my own devices. In many ways it suited me, because I have been living deeply in the question of how I am meant to be of service to the evolution of consciousness. And in many ways it has been a painful reminder of the fine line between solitude and loneliness. Most days it is a little bit of both.
As I contemplate how my trajectory has shifted since that trip to Scotland, I feel deeply the ebb and flow of growth and decay, of birthing and dying, of the shimmering light of August morphing through September into the grey mist of October. Surrendering to that eternal cadence, I learn my most profound lessons in trust. The leaves will turn and fall, the ground will freeze and disappear beneath a blanket of snow, the thaw will come, and the peepers will bring their cacophony of song again in the spring. The cycle repeats in a timeless loop, yet who will I be a year from now? Will I recognize the me who pecks away at the keyboard, pondering the unceasing march of time? Or will I have emerged into the sunlight in a new iteration, Kristin 2.0, a new release for a reimagined way of Being? I know my commitment to myself is to extend the invitation, regardless of the response, to continue to kneel before the altar of words and allow them to pour through me, to follow their lead in this dance of shadow and light. As for the rest, only time will tell.
